If certain places you came to in life felt right, then how many others were just as clearly the wrong place to be?

Was there anything quite so painful, so fraught with the possibilities of hurt, as gift giving within a family?

Soon would come the night in which there was no more work – not the work of the hands, nor the work of the mind, nor the work of the heart.

Still, for all that, her life had lacked passion. The demons had never come for her.

Education teaches children to lose interest in what matters most to them.

Just because you pretend the universe doesn't have teeth doesn't mean you won't get eaten in the end.

The body was an organic machine, period, and God was a figment of its fitful imagination.

But men are such strange creatures, really. I think most of them would rather we weren’t around at all, so they could just spend time mooning over each other. Hero worship and all that stuff.

The past is the past. It’s the present we should worry about.

It was a failure of pedagogical nerve, she reminded herself, to give up on a student.

All desire, Tracy had had occasion since to think, is to some degree monstrous.

Tom, "said Eric, " just yesterday, you were a complete stranger to us! Now, you are part of our lives!

Beware. Those with the least amount of authority exercise it the most often.

There are a million things one might do with a block of wood. But what do you think might happen if someone, just once, believed in it?

I like your glasses, ” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me... Cather.

There is a shotgun wedding going on and its between Marketing and IT. Finance's worst nightmare

The great thing about New Jersey is that it's close to New York.

I am passionate about informing the world about our ocean - its complexity and beauty, its value to us, and the perils that it faces.

There’s something sexy in cooking for a man who likes my food. Am I growing up?

The recent extraordinary discovery in Photography, as applied in the operations of the mind, has reduced the art of novel-writing to the merest mechanical labour.

Tomorrow has always been better than today, and it always will be.